


The Cost of a Life

by CuriousThimble



Series: Anders and FemHawke Shorts [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Non-Canon Inquisitor (Dragon Age), non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble
Summary: When Cullen is severely injured in a tower collapse, Evelyn has to decide if pardoning a fugitive is worth saving him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a non-canon "what if" situation that takes place during Inquisition.

“You were up late last night,” Leliana teases when the Inquisitor sits at the table. “Working?”

 

Evelyn nods and takes a first appreciative sip of coffee. “A little. I was waiting for Cullen to come have dinner, but he couldn’t get away. I was hoping for breakfast with him, but it doesn’t look like he’s appeared yet.”

 

“It’s nearly dawn,” Leliana points out. “You’d have missed him already anyway. He’s always up well before the sun.”

 

“I know,” Evelyn grumbles good-naturedly. “I wish I could convince him to sleep in now and again.”

 

“If he was working on the stack I sent him, he was at his desk all night,” Josephine says with an apologetic smile. “I understand it is difficult for the two of your to find time alone, if I’d known you had plans I would have left it for today.”

 

Evelyn waved her hand carelessly. “It’s fine, Josie, we’ll-”

 

“The tower’s fallen!” a panicked scout shouts, running into the hall. “Help! Please!”

 

Evelyn drops her mug, barely sparing a glance to Josephine and Leliana before jumping to her feet and running for the dimly lit courtyard. “What is it?” she demands, pushing through the gathering crowd.

 

Soldiers and workmen are swarming the battlements, and Scout Harding comes forward, pale and shaken. “In-Inquisitor,” she stammers.

 

“What is it?” she repeats, glaring at the dwarf. Evelyn likes Harding, but right now dread is settling in the pit of her stomach and she can’t be bothered with niceties.  _ What disaster do I have to deal with now? _ she wonders. “Where did the roof fall in?”

 

Harding swallows hard before answering. “C-Commander Cullen’s room, ma’am. The snow last night was too much. He’s in there.”

 

The courtyard spins, and she hardly hears Josephine moving into action or feels Leliana’s hands on her arms to stop her from wavering. “No,” Evelyn whispers, shaking her head. “No, how can you be sure?”

 

Harding trembles from head to toe, whether from shock or fear no one would have been able to say. “I was in his office, ma’am,” she explains. “Have been over an hour, waiting for him. I-I peeked into his room, to see if he was sleeping- he was,” she adds quickly. “I didn’t want to disturb him, so I was coming down to the hall for some breakfast when…”

 

“No,” Evelyn repeats, shaking her head. “No, Harding, that’s unbelievable. The Commander never sleeps late! He’s usually in the training ring by now, someone go check!”

 

Josephine puts her arm around the Inquisitor’s shoulders. “Let’s get a head count of everyone, make sure no one else is missing. Jacob, go check the training ring and get a list of everyone there, tell them not to leave until they get the word from me. Krys, do the same for the kitchens, someone find Rylen…”

 

Leaving Josephine to take control, Leliana leads Evelyn back into Skyhold, using a roundabout way to get to the battlements to watch the rescue effort. Evelyn can’t feel the cold biting through her clothes, or the icy slush seeping into her socks as they shuffle along the walkway. 

 

“Someone find the Inquisitor a cloak or blanket,” Leliana orders. “She’s not even wearing shoes.”

 

Evelyn’s eyes are as wide as saucers and her heart is in her throat, watching the effort to move buckets of snow and debris out of the way so the workers can get into his office. When the roof caved in, part of the wall around it came down as well, adding stone to the disaster. Dorian is perched precariously on a nearby roof, a rope around his waist as a precaution, using magic to move loose stones from the tower walls before they can fall and make matters worse. She stammers out thanks to whoever brings her coat and boots, allows them to lift her onto the battlements and replace her sopping socks with warm dry ones before putting her boots on her feet.

 

“Boss, it’s going to be all right,” she hears. She looks up to see the Iron Bull standing there, her wet socks in one hand and the other on her shoulder to balance her. “Cass, come over here, will you? I need to go help Blackwall and Dorian.”

 

Cassandra takes the socks from him and stands beside her, watching Evelyn closely. “Cully’s gonna be all right, yeah?” Sera asks nervously, walking up. 

 

“Of course,” Cassandra says firmly. “The Commander will be fine.”

 

“I hope so,” Evelyn whispers, turning her eyes back to the scene of destruction.

 

It takes more than an hour to dig him out- the ladder makes it difficult to get him down without injuring him further. Blackwall and Dorian carry him to the infirmary on a board, and Josephine begins organizing the cleanup, putting emphasis on repairing the Commander’s roof properly.

 

Evelyn doesn’t move from the battlements, her eyes wide but seeing nothing until Cassandra takes her arm. “Come, Evelyn,” she says gently, pulling her along. “All we can do is wait.”

 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Evelyn whispers.

 

_ He wasn’t even supposed to be there last night, _ she thinks as they walk to the infirmary.  _ He was supposed to come to my room for dinner. Work kept him late. I should have gone to him, should have made sure everything was all right and taken dinner to him. _ She continues to beat herself up and starts pacing in front of the infirmary, wearing a path through the snow and walking it into mush. The night before had been nothing unusual- he’d sent a quick note saying he would be late, and not to wait up for him, so she’d gone to bed alone. They were the Inquisitor and the Commander, sometimes they weren’t able to spend time alone- it just happened, and that was life.

 

The morning is gone when the surgeon finally comes out, wringing her hands. Evelyn glances at her and feels her stomach drop. “Varric,” she says softly. 

 

“I’m here,” he reminds her, coming to her side. 

 

They’re all there- the advisors, Bull, Sera, Dorian, Varric, Cassandra, Viviene. Cole is...somewhere, doing whatever it is Cole does, and Blackwall is still helping with the cleanup. Josephine and Leliana have come and gone several times, sometimes bringing news or something hot to drink that Evelyn sets down and forgets in her worried pacing. Swallowing dryly, she gestures for the surgeon to speak.

 

The woman takes a deep breath, looking as if she’s on her way to the gallows. “He’s alive,” she starts, and holds up her hands quickly. “But I don’t know for how long. We’ve done all we can, Inquisitor,” she explains, “but...we have no idea how much damage the stone and timbers have done. The Commander was crushed beneath it all, you see, and his body is so swollen it’s hard to tell what’s what. We’re slowly bringing his body temperature up, but it’s causing problems.”

 

“What kind of problems?” Leliana demands as she appears out of nowhere.

 

The surgeon shrugs. “Bleeding, mostly. We’ve got it stopped for the moment, but he’s bleeding inside his abdomen, and there are broken ribs and perhaps even his spine…” The woman sighs and looks right at Evelyn. “To be frank, Inquisitor, it’s taking more magic, skill, and energy than any of us can provide. The mages are rotating out their healing abilities to get him stable, but we only have the two, and it’s exhausting them.”

 

“He’s going to die,” Evelyn whispers, putting a hand to her throat. “Oh Maker…”

 

“Is there anything we can do?” Josephine asks. “Another healer, perhaps a mage we can call in?”

 

The surgeon nods. “There are spirit healers- they’re particularly tuned to healing magic, in ways that other mages aren’t- if you can find one. I’ve only ever heard of one before meeting Fiona, and she’s terribly old now, if she’s even alive. There’s no way we could get her here safely in time.”

 

“And Fiona’s gone to oversee the new infirmary,” Leliana sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

 

“How long?” Varric asks, giving voice to the one question everyone has but is afraid to ask. 

 

“A week, perhaps, if we can get him stable today,” the surgeon says.

 

“So a week to find one of these spirit healers and get them here to heal him?” Varric clarifies. “That’s not long.”

 

“No,” the surgeon admits. “I’m afraid it’s not, Ser Tethras.”

 

“Damn. I’m going to talk with the other mages, see what they know,” Leliana offers, and stops by Evelyn before she goes. “We’ll find someone, don’t worry,” she whispers, squeezing her arm for support.

 

Evelyn doesn’t notice; she can’t breathe or think beyond  _ he’s going to die. _ The thought circles her mind like vultures, swooping down and destroying any hope she might have had for Cullen.  _ A week. _ Tears finally come with a great, painful sob, and she covers her face, falling to her knees. She gulps for air like a drowning woman, the grief too much for one body to bear as she sobs. Her friends surround her quickly, blocking any view of her sudden vulnerability.

 

Cassandra kneels beside her, wrapping her arms around her. “I am here, Inquisitor,” she says softly.

 

Evelyn’s arms come around her hard, and she buries her face in her friend’s shoulder. “I can’t do anything to help him,” she sobs, shuddering.

 

“You can,” Cassandra says gently, lifting her face to look her in the eye. “You can pray. Come with me to the chapel. It is in the Maker’s hands.”

 

###  *****

 

“Varric, you’re insane!”

 

Varric sighs and rubs his forehead. “I knew you’d say that,” he grumbles. “Listen, Hawke, what if it was Anders?”

 

Hawke throws her hands in the air and turns to face him. “It  _ is _ Anders!” she reminds him. “Anders is wanted for blowing up the chantry and killing all those people! We’re the ones who started this whole damn thing, and you expect me to bring him  _ here? _ Have you lost your mind? Cullen would kill him just for Kirkwall!”

 

“He’s dying, Hawke!” Varric shouts at her. “Cullen- remember him? Bright shiny Templar who just wanted to do good, ended up in a special kind of hell when the Ferelden circle almost fell? The guy too shy to talk to whores in Kirkwall? You went instead, and found that missing recruit for him. Just  _ talking _ about it made him blush back then! Hawke, this is the guy who left the order when he found out his commander was crazy with red lyrium. He didn’t even blink when you showed up here!”

 

“No,” she says flatly. “I’m sorry, Varric, but it’s too dangerous to bring Anders out of hiding. I can’t be Cullen’s hero this time.”

 

“Let me write to him at least,” he suggests. “Ask him if he’s willing-”

 

“No.”

 

“Hawke, you can’t-”

 

Hawke shakes her head, her expression showing how much she regrets the decision. “Varric, the Inquisitor will have him executed. Or press him into service here. Or Corypheus will find him and do something terrible to him. He has to stay where I left him. He’s  _ safe _ there _ , _ Varric,” she says, her voice breaking. “I left him with someone I trust, where he can rest while I handle this. I’m already here because of you, don’t ask me to bring him here, too.”

 

“All I’m asking is that you help save the man the Inquisitor might be in love with,” he says, his voice heavy with disappointment. “You of all people should understand that. But I understand, Hawke,” he adds with a sad look. “I just thought you two were friends.”

 

Hawke watches her friend walk away, his shoulders sagging. She turns and slams her fist into the stone wall beside her, cursing.  _ I can’t bring Anders here, _ she thinks, shaking her hand.  _ It would be a disaster. A bigger disaster than we’ve ever dealt with before. It might get him killed. _

 

_ Still, the thought of seeing him again… _ She closes her eyes, remembering the last time she was with him. His arms like a vice around her, his last kiss as desperate as his first, the way his voice had shaken when he begged her to come back. Hawke aches for him, wishing he could be with her always, and hating their separation.

 

_ At least I know he’s safe, _ she thinks.  _ He’s alive. What must the Inquisitor be going through? She doesn’t even know if Cullen is going to live. _

 

_ What would I do if it was Anders lying in the infirmary, barely alive? _

 

With a heavy sigh, she rests her forehead on the wall. “Andraste, keep him safe,” she whispers. 


	2. Chapter 2

“How is he?” Hawke asks, slipping into the infirmary. 

 

“Alive,” the nurse says, slipping a hot brick under his feet. “We’re trying to slowly raise his temperature to normal, he nearly froze to death before they could get him out. Unfortunately, raising his temperature complicates matters.”

 

Hawke nods and sits in the empty chair beside his bed. “Where is everyone? I expected a full vigil.”

 

“Lady Josephine ordered everyone away,” the nurse explains. “They were getting in the way.”

 

“Is it all right if I stay a moment?”

 

“Of course, Messere Hawke.”

 

Hawke sits back, rubbing the back of her neck.  _ I’ve known Cullen a long time, _ she thinks.  _ This isn't some stranger. _ She sighs and sits back, putting her feet up on the bed beside him. “What am I supposed to do, huh Cullen?” she asks irritatingly. “ _ You _ should have fixed your damn roof,” she tells him, nudging his with her own. 

 

“Would she risk you, if it was Anders?” she wonders aloud. “Would you come to his rescue, Knight-Commander? Be  _ his _ hero?”

 

“Yeah, he would.”

 

Hawke sighs again when Varric approaches. “You say that as if you believe it.”

 

“I do,” he insists, putting a hand on her shoulder. “He’s changed, Hawke, you’d know that if you pulled your head from your ass.”

 

“Hey, I-”

 

“Oh give it up, Waffles,” Varric says with a grin. “You and the Inquisitor gossip like old women when you think I’m not looking, and you love the Iron Bull. You and Anders...you could fit here, fighting the fight.”

 

“It’s too dangerous, Varric,” she says, shaking her head. “Say I bring Anders, and he heals Cullen. And Cullen wakes furious and decides to kill Anders for his kindness. Then  _ I’m  _ left alone, punished for my efforts. What then?”

 

“That won't happen, Hawke. Let me write to Blondie, see what he thinks.”

 

Hawke finally looks from the unconscious commander to Varric. “Is the Commander of the Inquisition worth my husband’s life?”

 

###  *****

 

Evelyn knelt before the statue of Andraste, hands clasped and head bowed. “For there is no darkness,” she whispered, “nor death either, in the Maker’s Light. And nothing He has wrought will be lost.”

 

“How much is he worth to you?” she hears, and her fervent prayers fall apart in her mouth. She looks over her shoulder to see Varric’s friend Hawke standing there, her face full of something she can’t quite name. Fear, perhaps? This is unlike the brave and admirable woman she had laughed with in the training ring.

 

“What?” Evelyn asks, blinking slowly. She hadn’t realized that she’d been alone, and wonders when Cassandra had left her to pray alone. “What did you say?”

 

“I asked how much his life is worth,” Hawke repeats, staying near the door.

 

“Hawke, what’s this about?” Evelyn asks. 

 

Hawke comes forward and looks up at Andraste. “You know, it’s hard to have faith when you’ve lived like I have,” she says in a faraway voice. Her face looks soft and her ice-blue eyes distant, making Evelyn wonder what she was remembering. “An apostate father and sister, always running and in fear of Templars finding out. The first time I had sex, it was with a Templar,” she adds, a smirk on her lips. “He was close to discovering Bethany and Father, and I seduced him as a distraction. We left that same night, and I never saw him again.”

 

“Did you love him?” Evelyn asks, wondering where all this is going. In spite of everything that should have set them at odds- Hawke was a vigilante and a smuggler, whereas Evelyn had always done exactly what was expected of her until the conclave- she and Hawke have managed to become friends, but half the time Evelyn doesn’t understand what Hawke is trying to accomplish, keeping secrets the way she does. Hawke is the kind of person who would listen to anything and help if she could, but when it came to her own life, she stays tight-lipped. 

 

“I didn’t even like him.” Hawke shakes her head, still looking up at Andraste. “How could I? He posed a threat to those I loved more.” She takes a deep breath and looks down at Evelyn, still on the floor. “The Chantry and the Circles failed. Because of them, I never got to live a normal life. My father and brother died in the Blight. The Circle took my sister in Kirkwall. The Templars neglected to look for a murderer- and I found him too late to save my mother. Anders was tortured for years in Ferelden. Grand Cleric Elthina refused to do anything to help the mages, in spite of all the times we went to her and begged for assistance.”

 

“Yes,” Evelyn says, her voice growing cold. “And then Anders blew up the Chantry, and started this whole mess.”

 

“You don’t know what Kirkwall was like,” Hawke says softly, lowering her eyes. “You can’t understand, Evelyn, but this was always going to happen, one way or another. Meredith used the Templars until they were a curse on the city. A mage could be made tranquil for any offense, no matter how small, so they started killing themselves. The Chantry didn’t care if a mage committed suicide. The Viscount was a spineless coward; I learned later that Meredith put him in office, and that explained everything. No one ever did  _ anything _ to keep mages safe.” Her voice turns bitter, and she clenches her fists. “They were raped and tortured, tranquil or not. What Anders did was  _ necessary, _ even if it wasn’t good, Inquisitor. I will never believe what he did was wrong.”

 

“He killed all those people, Hawke,” she says gently.

 

“ _ Elthina _ and her damn Chantry killed more! She knew, Evelyn! She  _ knew _ and did nothing! How else we were supposed to respond?”

 

Evelyn watches her take deep breaths and try to get herself under control.  _ What is she getting at? _ she wonders.  _ Why is she telling me this? _ “I can’t fix the past, Hawke,” she says softly, shifting from her knees to a more comfortable sitting position. “If I could, today would have gone far differently.”

 

Hawke shakes her head and laughs, the sound low and cheerless. “What is he worth to you? Do you love him?”

 

Evelyn’s taken aback by the question. “I...I don’t know,” she says honestly. 

 

“Liar,” Hawke laughs again. “I was in love with Anders the day I met him. And unless I’m  _ very  _ wrong, you’re in love with the Commander.”

 

“I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Evelyn says, frustration growing. “What does the Chantry have to do with Cullen?”

 

“You need a spirit healer, I understand,” Hawke says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

 

Evelyn’s chest tightens and she holds her breath and nods.  _ It’s not possible... _

 

“Anders is a spirit healer,” Hawke informs her. “And I can have him here in about four days.”

 

Time stops, and Evelyn finds she’s unable to move. Hope blossoms inside her, warming the sluggish blood in her veins for the first time since she took that first sip of coffee this morning.  _ The most wanted man in Thedas is a spirit healer…and could be here before the week is out. _ “What do you want?” she asks, standing. “What do I have to do to get him here?”

 

“A full pardon,” Hawke says firmly. “Signed by the Inquisitor, her Advisors, and whatever is left at the top of the Chantry. Whoever’s running Kirkwall and the Circles, and anyone else who might matter. I want Anders to be completely and totally free. No circles, no phylactery, just a free and ordinary man.”

 

“I can’t do that, Hawke,” Evelyn says, slouching against the wall as her hope is smothered. “Even I don’t have that kind of power.”

 

“Not even for the man you love?” Hawke asks, raising her eyebrows knowingly. “Because if it was me, I’d be drafting the pardon already.”

 

_ Cullen will never forgive me, _ Evelyn thinks, her mind reeling.  _ But I can live with that so long as he’s alive to hate it. _ “Bring him,” she decides. “I’ll get them to agree to a pardon.”

 

Hawke extends her hand with a smile, and the fugitive and the Inquisitor shake hands. “I’ll be back with your healer,” she says. “Keep him alive until then.”

 

*

 

“Let me go with you.”

 

Hawke turned at Evelyn’s voice, raising her brows in surprise. “You want to come?”

 

Evelyn nods and walks deeper into the stables. “You said this was dangerous for him,” she says. “I should go. To help.”

 

“Varric is coming,” Hawke says, indicating the two horses and dwarf waiting just outside the stables. “You are not.”

 

Evelyn drops her pack and approaches Hawke, looking her right in the eye. “Are you saying I  _ can’t _ come, or you don’t  _ want _ me to?”

 

“Both,” Hawke says with an easy smile. “And a third: you  _ shouldn’t. _ ”

 

The Inquisitor blinks rapidly, stunned. “What?” She looks up at Blackwall as he comes inside, dusting wood shavings from his hands. “Blackwall did you hear this nonsense?”

 

“Lynnie,” Blackwall cuts in, raising a hand for peace, “you-”

 

“No, I want to hear this,” Evelyn snaps, her eyes never leaving Hawke’s. “Why shouldn't I go with you?”

 

“What if he dies, Evelyn?” she asks in a voice low enough for no one else to hear. “Do you want to be by his side, holding his hand, or with me, wandering across Thedas hoping Anders stayed where I put him and not moved on?”

 

Evelyn had thought she was ready to go, to find Anders and bring him back, but listening to Hawke, her heart aches. Leaving Cullen like this and not knowing if he would still be alive when she came back would be torture. “You’re right,” she says. 

 

Hawke puts a hand on her shoulder, the weight of the situation clear on her face. “We will hurry,” she promises. “Just stay with him and remind him why he needs to live.”

 

Evelyn throws her arms around Hawke, clinging to her desperately. “Please bring him,” she whispers, handing Hawke a thick piece of parchment.

 

Pulling away, Hawke chuckles and slips the parchment into the satchel on her hip. “For this, he’ll come, Inquisitor,” she assures Evelyn. “Come on, Varric. Let’s go.”

 

Evelyn watches them mount up and ride into the darkness. Blackwall puts a hand on her arm, and together they watch Hawke and Varric disappear. For the thousandth time today, Evelyn sends up another silent prayer before leaving Blackwall to his privacy.

 

Powerless to change anything, she returns to the infirmary and takes the chair beside his bed. Too worried to cry, she reaches for his hand and enfolds it between her own, rubbing her thumb over the calloused palm. For several long minutes she watches his chest rise and fall unsteadily, the breath hitching in his throat when his sore chest expands too much. Distantly she wonders when another mage will come in to ease his discomfort.

 

“You have to hold on,” she whispers, pressing a kiss into his palm. “You’ve got to, Cullen. We need you too much-  _ I _ need you too much. I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you how much you mean to me…” She trails off when the door opens to reveal Dorian, looking as if he hasn’t slept all night either. “Can’t sleep?” she asks.

 

Dorian nods, coming to stand beside her. Absently he brushes his fingers through her dark hair, gently untangling the long tresses. “No, I’ve been in the library, trying to find any reason why your pardon wouldn’t be recognized by Tevinter- or anyone else, for that matter. Your plan is insane, but it might work.”

 

She looks back to Cullen, still holding his hand. “He’s going to be furious.”

 

Dorian chuckles and drops his hands to her shoulder. “Yes, he will.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Here we are,” she says, pulling on the reins to slow her horse.

 

Varric looks around with confusion. “Here? Rainesfere? Hawke are you telling me he’s been a day’s ride away this whole time?” They’d left in the middle of the night and rode through the day, stopping only for short rests to stretch and eat.

 

“Day and a half,” she corrects as they ride toward a tall building in the middle of the village. The sun is sinking below the horizon, bathing everything in golden light, and she smiles. “I told you he was safe.”

 

“Hawke, you’re insane,” he chuckles. “Can we get rooms here?” he asks as they dismount in front of what must be the village tavern.

 

“Oh yes,” she assures him. “I know the owner.”

 

“You never stop surprising me, Waffles,” he laughs, handing his horse off to a boy running up from the stables.

 

Hawke stops before they get to the door of the tavern, turning to Varric. “Varric, you should know,” she says hesitantly, “he...he isn’t who he used to be.”

 

Varric shrugs. “Neither am I, Hawke. People change.”

 

Taking a deep breath, she nods. “They don’t know our real names here, so just follow my lead.”

 

“I can play the game,” he reminds her. “You just show me the players.”

 

She closes her eyes for a moment, savoring the knowledge that Anders is on the other side of the door, and a small smile makes its way to her face. The months without him have been hard, and Varric realizes that until he sent for her, Hawke and Anders had spent nearly every day of the last ten years together.

 

“You know, you haven’t smiled much since you got to Skyhold,” Varric says gently. “You’ve really missed him.”

 

She opens her eyes and turns that smile on him, and for a minute she’s the same girl he knew in Kirkwall, ready to smile and tell a joke whenever necessary. “Yes,” she says simply. “I really have.”

 

He has to push away the nagging guilt he feels at having separated them in the first place before he can lift his hands and gesture to the door. “Well, let’s not keep the man waiting.”

 

Hawke leads him inside the shadowy room, sound washing over them the moment the door is open. She changes, he notices, her posture and walk changing, even her voice a little as she calls out a greeting. She’s sweeter and softer, and he wonders if this act is what she would have been like if her life had been easier.

 

“Belle!”

 

Hawke raises her hand to the man behind the bar, making her way through the evening crowd, sparing a word for several as she passes. “Hello, Jeptha,” she says cheerfully. “Is my husband anywhere around?”

 

The old man wipes down a bit of the bar and nods. “He’s in the back, bringing in a cask. You’ve been gone awhile, Bells, I hope everything’s all right with your mum?”

 

Varric watches, fascinated, and takes a seat at the bar with her. Hawke shakes her head sadly, and she looks so upset that he wonders if she missed her calling as an actress.

 

“Mother’s even worse, that’s why I’ve come,” she explains. “I’m going to need Hunter to come back with me.”

 

Jeptha gives her a sympathetic look. “And money, too, I suppose? I can get you part of what I owe-”

 

“Oh no,” she assures him, waving her hand. “We’re well taken care of in that respect, don't worry. More importantly, Jeptha, this is my friend Varric Tethras,” she adds, nodding to Varric. “Varric, Jeptha, He took us in last spring, when Hunter took sick. We’ve been working the bar for our keep ever since.”

 

“And a finer couple I’ve never met,” Jeptha says proudly. “Belle here has turned my business around with her sharp mind.”

 

Varric nods, raising his eyebrows. “I remember you wrote me about his being sick. I just didn’t realize Rainesfere was so close,” he says wryly.

 

Hawke gives him a careless shrug and a wink before turning to the corner of the room like a hound on the scent. Varric watches her focus move solely to the blonde-haired man with a cask over his shoulder, her face softening and a helpless sigh escaping her.  _ I hope she didn’t just forget why we’re here, _ he thinks, watching all the urgency and tension of their mission  seep out of her.

 

“I bet if you went over there right now, he’d drop that cask,” Varric chuckles, and she’s already on her feet and moving. “Oh shit, there she goes,” he laughs, slapping his knee. “Jeptha, I hope that’s not the good stuff. If he does drop it, I’ll pay for it.”

 

Jeptha laughs, shaking his head. “They’re sweet kids,” he says. “Hard to fault that kind of love. Can I get you anything? Ale? Might have some dwarven stuff in the back.”

 

“Whatever you have up here is fine,” Varric says, turning to watch the scene play out, determined to remember everything for his next romance.  _ I think it’s time Mina Falcon and her man get back together, _ he thinks.

 

“Oy, Hunter! Looks like you’ve got company!” a patron calls, grabbing his attention.

 

Anders- known as Adam Hunter here- looks up to see Hawke moving toward him. With a shout of joy, he drops the cask of wine, not caring when it crashes to the floor behind him as he sweeps her into his arms.

 

“Andraste’s knickers,” he breathes, crushing her against him as they’re splashed with wine. “Wife. You’re here.”

 

Hawke leans back just enough to look at him. “I’ve missed you, husband,” she whispers, touching his face softly. 

 

The kiss they share is witnessed- and encouraged- by half the population of Rainesfere, and they break away laughing. “Why  _ are  _ you here, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing her hair back to look at her clearly. “It can’t all be taken care of so soon, can it?”

 

Hawke bites her lip and shakes her head. “No, love,” she says sadly. “It’s not.”

 

Anders nods and kisses her forehead. “All right, let me clean this up and we’ll go upstairs.”

 

Varric watches Hawke look down at her feet swimming in wine and laugh before kissing Anders again. “Jeptha, I think we’ve lost them,” he laughs. 

 

The old man shrugs with a grin. “Ah well. They’ll clean up their mess, and we’ll see them tomorrow.”

 

Varric smiles, watching them mop up wine and look at one another like lovesick fools. “They’ve always tried to clean up their mess,” he agrees. “You got a spare room here? No way am I bunking with the happy couple.”

 

###  *****

 

Hawke had originally intended to explain everything before letting Anders get her into bed, but she had underestimated how much she’d missed him in the last months. She’s also reluctant to begin the argument that will surely happen as soon as he finds out why she’s come back, so she pushes all thought aside for the moment. They spend half the night selfishly making love, kissing every scar as if it were new and making empty vows to never be apart again. Long after Anders has dropped the wine casket, they lay quietly in a tangle of sheets and limbs, watching the fire burn and just enjoying being in one another’s presence again as guilt creeps over her.

 

“Was that  Varric I saw at the bar?” he asks finally, dragging a finger slowly over her shoulder. “Did he finally persuade you to let him come with you?”

 

She nods, sitting up and resting her elbows on her knees. Guilt finally comes over her, and she fists her hands in her hair.  _ I should have said something sooner, _ she thinks. “Anders,” she says softly and looks up at him. “I have to leave again in the morning. And I need you to come with me.”

 

Confusion clouds his beautiful features, his eyebrows drawing together as he sits up. “What do you mean?”

 

With a deep breath, Hawke glances at her satchel across the room. “There’s been an accident at Skyhold,” she begins. “Commander Cullen has been injured.”

 

“Cullen? You mean the knight-commander from Kirkwall?”

 

She nods, looking deep into his eyes. “They can’t help him, Anders,” she tells him. “He will die without a spirit healer.”

 

Hawke can see the pieces fall into place as his expression changes, and a flash of blue light crosses his eyes. “No,” he says firmly, climbing out of bed and grabbing his trousers.

 

“Anders, you-”

 

“No!” he says louder, the blue flashing again. “He condoned the torture and imprisonment of mages, he deserves to die.” A cold weight drops into her stomach when his skin appears to crack and more light bleeds out, throwing wild shadows around the room. Justice, it seems, cannot bear the idea of helping the Commander, and has taken over.

 

“Be reasonable,” she pleads. “Anders, he didn’t  _ know _ -”

 

“It was his job to know!”

 

Hawke takes a deep breath and pulls her knees closer to her chest, waiting for him to calm down a little before she speaks again. “Anders, I have a pardon for you,” she explains, trying to reach her husband. “The Inquisitor will give you a full pardon if you go to Skyhold and heal Cullen.”

 

“A pardon? What do I care for the pardons of the unjust?” Justice demands, whirling on her.

 

“You care about the mages, don’t you?” she counters. “The Inquisition has given mages a place in the world. Outside the circles. She can  _ help. _ ”

 

“It cannot be freedom.”

 

Hawke knows how unpredictable Justice can be when he’s angry, so she stays right where she is, even though the months apart have made her hungry for contact with her husband. “It’s the beginning of freedom,” she tells him. “There’s a tower where they can work, they are a part of the Inquisition. Once the rifts are closed and Corypheus is dead we can start working towards real freedom.”

 

“I will not help one who has tortured mages!” Justice shouts.

 

“Keep your voice down, it’s late,” she orders, sounding like she was ordering a troop instead of a single man. “If you wake Jeptha, I’ll gag you.”

 

“I will not go,” Justice repeats, quieter as he remembers the last time he woke Jeptha. “And we will leave this place tonight.”

 

Hawke ties the sheet around her and stomps over to her satchel, pulling out the thick parchment waiting to be covered in signatures and seals. Unfolding it and keeping it out of his reach, she shows it to him. “Look at this,” she demands. “Everyone who matters is willing to allow the pardon, on the condition that you help Commander Cullen.”

 

“They will kill us,” Justice argues, but she can see the light in his eyes and over his skin flickering. “They will call us abomination.”

 

“You  _ are _ an abomination,” Hawke reminds him. “Anders, just listen. The Inquisitor has sworn to your safety, you won’t be killed or imprisoned, so long as you fulfill your end of the deal. You can be free,” she adds in a hopeful tone.

 

“I  _ am _ free!” Justice cries, waving his arms around. 

 

“This?” she laughs, and the light flickers again, dimming considerably this time. “This is life on the run! This is being a criminal! We haven’t had a moment of peace in years!”

 

“I am in no circle, answer to no one. This is freedom,” he disagrees sharply.

 

“How many people have to die for your false idea of freedom?” Hawke asks, losing her patience. “Where is the justice in allowing a good man to die because he made some mistakes in the past?” She moves closer, setting the parchment aside and cupping his face in his hands. “Anders,” she says gently. “What is your freedom-  _ real _ freedom- worth to you?”

 

“He has caused too much pain!” Justice insists, jerking away from her.

 

Hawke feels the stab of pain Justice knew he would inflict at the movement, but she can also see that the spirit is weakening against her argument, so she presses on. “So have you, Justice,” she reminds him softly, reaching for his hand. “So have I, in your name. The things we’ve done have been just, but not always right.”

 

As she’d hoped, Anders wrestles Justice back into submission, and the light in his eyes and flesh fade, leaving only her beautiful, amber-eyed husband. He looks frightened and ashamed, but she doesn’t look away from him. “Hawke, is it real?” he asks in a small voice.

 

She nods, letting her hands slide from his to rest on his bare chest. “Yes, Anders, it’s real. The Inquisitor will sign the parchment- and all its copies- as soon as you’ve done what you can to help.”

 

“What if I can’t help? What if he dies?” he asks in a panicked voice. “Hawke, what if-”

 

She shakes her head, trying to smile for him. “All you have to do is try, love. Will you do it?”


	4. Chapter 4

Evelyn takes the cup Cassandra offers with a wan smile. “You don't know how much I need this,” she says thankfully.

 

“Has the healer been by already?”

 

Evelyn looks down at Cullen, still unconscious but breathing easier. “An hour ago. Any sign of Hawke and Varric?”

 

The Seeker shakes her head. “Nothing.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Evelyn stands. “I can’t sit here all day,” she says and nods to the nearby nurse. “Call me if anything changes.”

 

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

 

“Walk with me, Cass?” she asks, gesturing with her chin toward the battlements.

 

Cassandra follows her out into the early morning light, and Evelyn can feel her studying her carefully. “Did you sleep last night?” she asks.

 

Evelyn shrugs and takes a longer sip of coffee. “A little. I was hoping they would come back last night.”

 

“It’s only been a day.”

 

“I know, but I have no idea when to expect them. She wouldn't tell me anything.” 

 

“I should have followed them,” Cassandra says, the frustration in her voice obvious. 

 

“No,” Evelyn disagrees. “It would have only complicated matters. He has to come on his own terms.” She sighs, pulling her coat closer and looking out over the Frostback mountains. “I feel so helpless, Cassandra,” she admits. “I can’t help him, and he’s just lying there, pale and broken. What if Anders won’t come?”

 

“He will come,” her friend assures her. “Anders ran a free clinic in Kirkwall, and treated anyone who needed help. He will not turn away the chance for both his freedom and to help someone in great need.”

 

Worry eats at Evelyn, even as she tries to keep her expression calm. “I hope you’re right, Cassandra.”

 

###  *****

 

“So this is it, then?” Jeptha asks, sitting at the table across from Anders and Varric. “Time for you to move on? She only got back last night.”

 

Anders nods, looking sick at the idea of leaving. “We’re needed elsewhere, Jeptha.”

 

“Well, it’s been a good run, hasn’t it, Anders?” Jeptha says with a grin. “You and Hawke sure brought a lot of excitement to this old place.”

 

Varric puts down his fork, almost choking on his eggs. “Wait, what?”

 

Hawke puts another plate of eggs and bacon on the table, grinning. “Anders and I were sent to Jeptha last spring,” she explains and takes her seat. “As part of the Mage Underground.”

 

“My girl Thea was one of the mages Anders got out of Kirkwall before the whole city went to shit,” Jeptha goes on. “When word got out that they were moving on, I offered them shelter here.”

 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Varric laughs, slapping his knee. “You had me fooled, old man. I thought you’d swallowed their story whole.”

 

Jeptha laughs with him, shaking his head. “They gave me my girl for three weeks before she had to move on. I’d do anything for them.”

 

“Aw, Jeptha,” Hawke says, patting his hand. “When I got your message Varric, we decided it was best for Anders to stay here.”

 

“Close enough for an emergency, far enough for safety,” Varric says with a nod. “Good idea.”

 

The lines in Jeptha’s face deepen as he looks at Anders and Hawke. “You’ve been good to me and mine,” he says finally. “I hate to see you go, but I know you have to.”

 

Anders clenches his jaw against the emotion that threatens to overwhelm him and nods. “I can’t thank you enough, Jeptha, for everything.”

 

“No thanks are needed, my boy,” he says in a rough voice. “Now you three get a move on, I’ll clean up here.”

 

Hawke kisses his weathered cheek and hugs him tightly. “Thea will be able to come home one day,” she promises. “I’m not going to stop until she’s home.”

 

Varric watches Hawke and Anders say their goodbyes before going upstairs for their things, then approaches Jeptha himself. “Jeptha, you’ve been good to my friends,” he says, and hands him a note. “If you need anything- anything at all- you write to this address. I’ll get it, and your problem will be over.”

 

“Oh no, Varric, that’s not-”

 

“It is, Jeptha,” the dwarf insists. “It is. Please take it. Contact me if you need anything.”

 

Jeptha glances around the empty tavern, his heart heavy. “You help find a way for my girl to come home, Ser Tethras,” he says finally. “That’s all the thanks I’ll ever need.”

 

Once again, Varric is hit with the weight of the responsibility he’s taken on himself, and he nods as Anders and Hawke clatter down the stairs. Some of the strain that’s been in her movements since her appearance in Skyhold is gone, replaced by the simple joy of being near Anders, and she looks...happier than he’s seen her in a very, very long time.

 

In truth, Anders looks better than the last time Varric saw him. It seems Jeptha’s kitchen has managed to put a little weight on him, and chopping wood for the stove did more than help him with his tan. No matter how Justice has tormented him, his time with Jeptha in Rainesfere has been good for him, and it shows.

 

“Shall we?” Hawke says, taking the reins of her horse from the same stable boy who took their mounts the night before.

 

“You have no idea how much I’ve waited to move on,” Anders says with a nod as he mounts a horse purchased from Jeptha. “Even if it is to Skyhold.”

 

“Are you nervous, Blondie?” Varric asks as they set out. “You’re heading straight from the frying pan and into the fire.”

 

Anders gives him a grim smile. “I guess it’s just time to see if I burn.”

 

*

 

Evelyn sighs and rubs her eyes to alleviate the dry and gritty feel as she walks through the courtyard toward her quarters.The sun is barely over the horizon, so she may have a few hours to sleep before anyone needs anything terribly important. The idea of her bed after two nights of dozing in an uncomfortable chair by Cullen’s bedside is almost enough to make her swoon, and she entertains the idea of building up the fire and slipping between the silk sheets totally naked.

 

That blissful dream is dashed as soon as she sees Josephine- looking polished and perfect as ever- tapping her foot and scratching notes on her clipboard at the door to Evelyn’s rooms.

 

“Inquisitor, I’m glad I…” she trails off, taking a good look at Evelyn. “You should have been coming  _ down, _ not going up,” she says sternly. “You were in the infirmary all night. Again.”

 

Evelyn sighs and leans on the wall to pull off her boots. “Yes, I was. And you can either follow me upstairs while you talk, or I’m getting naked right here in the hall.”

 

Josephine opens the door for her and shoos her upstairs. “It won’t do for everyone to see the Inquisitor in such a state,” she scolds.

 

Chuckling, Evelyn drops her coat on the stairs as she ascends, followed quickly by her vest, scarf, and hairpins. “Talk fast, Josie,” she warns, “or you’re going to see a lot more of your Inquisitor than you’ve seen before.”

 

“We have a problem,” Josephine says without preamble. “Keeping Commander Cullen stable is costing us in lyrium, and at the current rate, we’ll be completely out before our next shipment is due to arrive.”

 

Evelyn freezes in place, hands on the buttons of her shirt. “We’re running out of lyrium?” she asks, her voice shaking.

 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Josephine says. “Keeping the mages and the templars supplied is draining us, quickly.”

 

“How long would we be out before the shipment arrives, if we continue as it is?” Josephine is silent for so long that Evelyn turns around and stares, her blue eyes unbelieving. “Josie. How long?”

 

The Ambassador shifts from one foot to the other before sighing deeply. “We are scheduled for a shipment in two weeks,” she says finally. “We will run out in four days at this rate.”

 

“Ten days,” she gasps, dropping onto the stairs like a stone. Evelyn hangs her head and buries her hands in her hair, utterly stunned. “The templars are addicted,” she whispered. “Ten days will kill some of them.”

 

“If we ration our supplies strictly, we could make it last. But it will be very difficult on them,” Josephine adds regretfully. “I have written to the dwarves asking for a rush on our shipment, but nothing is certain.”

 

“Ten days,” Evelyn repeats. “Cut the lyrium for all mages _ not _ in absolute need and hold it for emergencies,” she decides, lifting her head. “That means everyone except the two healers. They don't have to deal with withdrawals, let their energy restore naturally.”

 

Josephine makes a note on her board and looks back up. “And the templars?”

 

“I hate to do this,” she mutters. “Bring me the surgeon and Rylen.”

 

Josephine nods and turns on her heel, pausing at the door. “If I may make a suggestion, Inquisitor?” she says over her shoulder.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Go to the War Room for your meeting. I’ll have a bath and breakfast waiting for you here when you return.”

 

“Josie?”

 

Josephine turns completely around with a raised brow. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

 

Evelyn gives her a grateful, exhaustion smile. “Thank you.”

 

*

 

“Knight-Captain, I don’t want to cause them injury,” Evelyn explains. “This will be a difficult time, and undue stress will only make matters worse.”

 

Rylen nods, pacing in front of her chair and running the numbers again. “My men can handle it, Inquisitor.”

 

“Rylen, that will put you at a bottle a  _ day, _ ” the surgeon exclaims. “How many of the men can withstand that kind of stress?”

 

“All of them, surgeon,” he insists. “Myself included.”

 

“No,” Evelyn states. “You and a handful of others will continue as usual. If I’m going to have templars fighting withdrawals, I need someone with his head about him and a few others at full strength. If we get the emergency supplies, I’d like to make sure everyone’s recovery is handled quickly,” she tells the surgeon.

 

“As you wish, Inquisitor. Now, as acting lead surgeon,” she adds, “I suggest that you get some rest yourself.”

 

Evelyn stands, bare feet on the stone floor, and stretches. “That is exactly where I’m going. Rylen, send for me if anything comes up within the next few hours.”


	5. Chapter 5

“How many mage-healers are there in Skyhold?” Anders asks as they ride through the mountains. “Surely there’s a spirit healer among them. We can’t be that rare.”

 

“Fiona is one,” Hawke explains, “but she was sent to oversee a new infirmary in the Exalted Plains. Each camp has a surgeon or healer, so we’re actually down to only two at Skyhold with Fiona away.”

 

“And let’s be honest,” Varric quips, “Kelvin and Moira aren’t very good.”

 

“They’re new to healing, Varric,” Hawke reminds him.

 

“Kelvin couldn't get a splinter out of my finger last week.”

 

“He just leaned simple healing a month ago,” she counters. “And Moira just a little longer. Imagine the strain they’re under right now.”

 

“They weren’t under any strain with my splinter,” Varric grumbles.

 

Anders reins in his horse, coming to a full stop as his jaw drops and he stares at them in horror. “How long have you been without a proper healer?” he demands.

 

Hawke stops and turns in the saddle to look at him. “About...four weeks? Is that right, Varric?”

 

Varric shrugs. “Five? Six, tops.”

 

Blue light splinters through his skin and Anders pulls at his own hair. “Are you joking?!” he shouts as the light dies down, causing a small, unseen animal to scurry through the snow. “ _ Six weeks _ ? Why didn’t you just send for me, Hawke?”

 

“Oh no,” she says, putting up a hand. “No. We’re not arguing about this, too.”

 

“What if you’d been hurt?”

 

“It wasn’t that bad…” Varric starts, but a harsh look from Hawke stops him. “Oops.”

 

“Marian Genevieve Hawke,” Anders says slowly, moving his horse slowly to stand beside her own. “You were hurt, and without a fully trained healer available? Is that what I’m understanding?”

 

Hawke gives him a placating smile. “Of course not, sweetheart,” she says, reaching over for his hand. “I was injured, yes, but the surgeon was there. Once I was stitched up, I let Kelvin try and finish the healing. It’s fine, I swear.”

 

“The new scar on your shoulder,” he says, scowling at her. “That’s what it was, wasn't it? Some hack’s attempt to heal a wound.”

 

Hawke squeezes his hand and gives him another smile. “Make it up to me, and teach him the right way to do it,” she tells him.

 

###  *****

The door to the infirmary opens, and Evelyn raises a hand to shield her eyes from the blinding light. She managed to get a few hours’ sleep before a horrible nightmare of being buried alive along with Cullen jolted her out of sleep, but her eyes still feel incredibly dry and gritty.

 

“Scout Harding, what are you doing here?” the nurse asks. “Are you feeling all right?”

 

The sunspots fade, and she can see Lace Harding hovering in the doorway. “Lace,” she she calls, waving her over. “Is something wrong?”

 

The pretty dwarf closes the door behind her, sealing in the warmth of the room once more. “No, Inquisitor,” she says, her eyes going wide as saucers when she sees Cullen lying in bed. “Blessed Andraste!”

 

Evelyn follows her gaze and sighs. Cullen’s entire torso is a kaleidoscope of bruises, ranging from red to green and an ugly purple that spreads and recedes depending on when the last time the healer visited. “I know,” she says softly, setting the papers in her hand atop the stack of reports she’s been going through. “I’m told it looks worse than it is.”

 

“How can that be?” Harding asks, reaching out to touch him. She stood halfway before curling her hand against her chest, grief plain on her face.

 

“You can touch him,” she offers gently. “I’ve been holding his hand, talking to him. Sometimes I rub elfroot salve over his ribs.”

 

“Does it help?”

 

Evelyn shrugs, leaning forward and wrapping his hand in her own. “The healer said he may be able to hear us, but the surgeon is keeping him drugged so he doesn’t move too much and cause more damage. Sleep right now is the best thing until we get more help.”

 

“Inquisitor…”

 

The woman’s voice is so broken and grieved that Evelyn turns to face her again, seeing tears on her cheeks. “Harding, what is it?”

 

“I feel like it’s my fault,” Harding whispers, stepping back and covering her mouth. “I should have woken him. He’d have been out of bed and would have-” She breaks off in a sob, turning her face to the corner as her shoulders begin to shake with the force of her regret.

 

“Oh Lace,” Evelyn whispers, rising and walking over. “This is  _ not _ your fault,” she says firmly, putting her hands on the broad shoulders. “Lace Harding, you listen to me now: this is something that  _ happened _ , and it isn’t anyone’s fault. Now you go sit with you Commander and hold his hand.”

 

It takes Harding a moment to compose herself and move over to the chair. Evelyn desperately doesn’t want to go, but she knows that if Harding is going to get over her guilt she needs a private moment.

 

 _I’ll be back soon,_ she thinks, wishing she could kiss him quickly, but doesn’t dare in front of anyone. A few kisses, some private dinners and walks...that’s all they had between them, she realizes. All this emotion for something that could barely be called a romance. _And yet I care for him so much._ _Just...stay alive until then, Cullen._

 

“I’m going to get dinner,” she tells Harding. “Keep him company until I come back?”

 

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

 

Evelyn heard Harding begin to ramble as she leaves- just the normal things she would normally report into him, and Evelyn can't fault her for needing the normalcy of reports just now. Normalcy and routine are really been the only things keeping her moving right now, no matter how much she wants to uproot the mountain beneath her.

###  *****

“Maker’s balls, I’m tired,” Varric grumbles, sliding off the horse and stumbling. “Damn horses. Damn mountains. Why can’t the land just be flat?”

 

Hawke groans as she dismounts, her knees shaky from being in the saddle all day. “We’re almost there, Varric,” she reminds him. “We could be there tonight if we push hard enough.”

 

“Can the horses handle that in this cold?” Anders asked, shivering slightly.

 

“Master Dennet said they could travel the Frostbacks for two solid days,” Hawke tells him, digging into her saddlebag. “I’d rather not test  _ that _ , but I think we can go on after a few hours’ rest. Here,” she says, and hands him a green scarf. It’s poorly made; the yarn is knotted and there are holes from dropped stitches in the knitting, but he wraps it around his face and neck anway.

 

“Did you make this?” he asks, voice muffled and eyes shining. “It looks awful.”

 

“Smooth, Blondie,” Varric chuckles, stacking dried firewood around a small pile of shavings. “Your girl spends hours trying to learn how to knit from Leliana and you have the nerve to tell her how ugly it is.”

 

“I’m insufferable,” Anders agrees cheerfully. “I should be chastised for my rude manners.”

 

Hawke laughs and hands Varric her firestarter kit. “Let’s see how rude you are when we get to Skyhold, and we’ll see how you like being chastised.”

 

It feels like old times, making camp with Anders and Varric. Anders tends to the horses, unsaddling them and strapping their feed bags on, rubbing them with a bit of old flannel. Varric sets up the fire and starts their dinner, and Hawke constructs a quick lean-to, cutting branches off the fir trees around them as a barrier to the snow. 

 

“I hope everyone likes porridge and coffee,” Varric says a little while later. “Because that’s all we have.”

 

“Oh, Jeptha gave me a little honey and some hard-tack before we left,” Hawke remembers. “It isn’t much, but it’ll do.”

 

“I have some dried venison,” Anders adds.

 

They combine their stores, and while it isn’t as decadent and flavorful as some of the meals they’ve shared, it is filling and wholesome. Varric tells them about some of his missions with the Inquisitor, like when the Iron Bull tripped and got his horn stuck in a tree root and Blackwall had to get an ax to release him. They laugh and talk about the old days in Kirkwall, before everything went to shit. After a while, Hawke suggests that Varric try and get some sleep before they set out again.

 

“I feel like there’s an ‘old man’ comment in there,” he says suspiciously, “but I’m going to pretend that you two lovebirds just want more time together and take advantage.”

 

“You’re the one who said your ass was numb,” Anders reminds him, wrapping Hawke’s cloak around her shoulders.

 

“That is true, Blondie,” Varric agrees cheerfully, and rolls himself into his blanket. Within minutes, they can hear a steady snore from the shadows of the lean-to, and Anders smiles warmly at her.

 

“You know, I’m still not certain about this whole Cullen idea, but I’m so happy to see you again,” he says. 

 

Hawke closes her eyes as he brushes his hands through her hair, longer now, not the sharp-edged cut he gives her with his razor. “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers and leans against his chest as his lips find her throat.

 

“I love you, Hawke,” he breathes against her skin.

 

“I love you, Anders.”

 

His mouth hot on her, and she moans when he works his way to her shoulder and drags his teeth over the exposed skin. “We’re supposed to be resting,” she reminds him, gasping when he nips the tender skin. “If you don’t stop, you’ll only end up spending more energy.”

 

Anders’s chuckle ripples along her flesh, making her shiver with need. “Doesn’t this rejuvenate you, sweetheart?”

 

A discreet cough from behind them answers for her, and she laughs, her face flushed as he pulls away. “Soon enough,” he murmurs. “Come here, and let me hold you at least. I haven’t spent nearly three days in the saddle.”

 

She happily crawls into his lap, resting her head against his chest and inhaling his scent deeply.  _ Please Andraste… _ she prays silently.  _ If this is what it’s like for Evelyn...don’t take this from her. _


	6. Chapter 6

“When I was a little girl, I  _ hated _ that Father called me his ‘little scoundrel.’ He was right, of course,” Evelyn snickers. “I learned how to pick pockets by taking the candy out of grandpapa’s pockets and coppers out of my great-aunt’s purse. It was my aunt who noticed I was ambidextrous,” she adds, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. “She was the one who suggested I learn the...shadowy arts, as she put it. Oh Cullen, you’ll love her,” she sighs. “Aunt Lucille is as old as time, but absolutely wonderful. You’d hate going to the opera with her, she mouths all the words and sometimes forgets herself and sings along- she’s terrible, too,” she laughs. 

 

Her laughter trails off into another sigh, heavy with fear. “Will you please just get better?” she pleads, kissing his bruised knuckles. There isn’t a part of him that isn’t broken or bruised, despite the healers and their salves. “I have so much to tell you.”

 

“Inquisitor!”

 

Leliana’s voice cuts through the night seconds before the door bursts open. “They’ve been spotted,” she announces. “They’ll be here soon. The snow is slowing them down a little.”

 

“Is Anders with them?” she asks fearfully.

 

Leliana gives her a smile that says she always knew he would come. “Yes.”

 

Evelyn lets out of sigh of relief. “Then let’s go meet them.” She gently puts his hand on his chest, her own trembling.  _ Just a little longer, Cullen. _

 

She’s joined quickly by Dorian, Bull, and Cassandra, and whispers a word of thanks when Dorian puts her cloak over her coat. “Can’t have you lying in the infirmary, too,” he says warmly, smoothing the wool over her shoulders.

 

The wait is agonizing, but as more of her friends appear to shiver in the snow with her, she feels their strength combatting her growing anxiety. Evelyn strains to see through the heavy snowfall, to hear the sound of hooves on stone, but the world is muted. It feels like a lifetime before they see three riders coming out of the dark, and hear a familiar grumble.

 

“Andraste’s ass, it’s cold!” Varric informs them as soon as they’re in sight. “What are you idiots doing standing out here like this?”

 

“We’ve come to welcome you home, Varric,” Dorian says sweetly. “You’ve been missed.”

 

“Uh-huh,” he grumbles. “Somebody come help me down, I’m so stiff I can hardly move.”

 

“Come on, Varric, let’s get a drink in you,” Bull says and moves forward to help the normally easy-tempered dwarf off his horse while the other two riders dismount alone. Evelyn watches the third person hanging back, his face covered with a green scarf that looks like it was knitted by a child, as he moves to Hawke’s side and says something to her softly.

 

_ She looks different, _ she realizes, studying them.  _ Less troubled, easier. How difficult it must have been to leave him. _ “Hawke,” she says in greeting, stepping forward.

 

Hawke gives her a friendly smile, shivering in her layers. “Inquisitor. Can we make introductions inside? We’ve been riding since dawn.”

 

Evelyn wants to shove them into the infirmary and immediately have Anders work his magic, but she knows better than to risk something going wrong due to exhaustion. She nods and gestures for the waiting stableboy to take the horses, and they all make their way into Skyhold.

 

“I’m having baths and hot food prepared and sent to their rooms,” Josephine says the moment they enter, smiling at Hawke in welcome. “I would suggest introductions wait a little longer, while they recover from their journey.”

 

“Josephine you are a darling,” Hawke sighs, unwrapping a scarf from her neck. “And I think I’m in love with you. Come kiss me, darling.”

 

Josephine gives her a saucy grin and winks. “You are a great tease, Hawke.”

 

“Actually,” a new voice says slowly, and everyone turns to the man with the scarf over his face. “I would like to introduce myself now, if that’s all right.”

 

Varric, nearest the fire, chuckles. “Blondie loves the drama of the reveal.”

 

Evelyn folds her hands in front of her and waits while he unwraps the scarf. Somehow she thought the infamous Anders would look...well...infamous. Instead he just looks like normal, handsome, nobody. Blonde hair, amber eyes, and a little scruff, and so terribly...normal.

 

“Hello, Inquisitor,” he says and gives her a charming smile. Finding herself smiling in response, she can see why Hawke likes him. “I’m Anders.”

 

“Evelyn Trevelyan,” she replies, offering her hand. “Welcome to Skyhold.”  She’s shocked to realize how warm his hand is, in spite of the cold making his skin red, and wonders if it’s due to magic or a well-made pair of gloves.

 

“Could I see the patient?” he asks.

 

“Anders, is that wise?” Hawke asks. “We’ve been riding so long…”

 

“I want to see him,” he insists. “I won’t be able to rest otherwise.”

 

Evelyn nods. “Let me show you the infirmary.”

 

They follow her out into the snow once more, but it’s a short walk to the infirmary. Hawke wants nothing more than to fret over Anders, to make him bathe, eat, and sleep until morning, but knows him too well to think that will happen before he’s had a look at Cullen’s injuries. Once inside, they shrug off their snow-damp cloaks and coats, hanging them on pegs near the fire to dry.

 

“How much lyrium do you have on hand?” he asks, his face settling into the expression that Hawke has come to call his “fix-it face.” Her eyes travel to the man in question, noticing the strange tinge to his complexion and how ragged his breathing has become.

 

“We’re in dire straits, actually,” Evelyn tells him, hands knotting in front of her. “We’ve had to cut the templars’ rations, and horde the mage’s supply.”

 

“What’s happened?” Hawke asks, turning back to her. “What changed in three days?”

 

Anders answers for her, prodding Cullen’s stomach gently. “Your mages aren’t healers by nature,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “They’ve recently learned how to heal, but it takes too much of their energy. They’ve what...doubled, tripled, their lyrium consumption?”

 

“They’ve been seeing to Cullen every two hours,” Evelyn explains. “Even rotating isn’t enough for them to regain enough strength for the work. I’ve sent for an emergency shipment from Orzammar, but we haven’t heard back yet.”

 

The door opens, and a sleepy-looking girl enters, wrapped in a blanket and shivering as she kicks snow off her shoes. “Oh, Inquisitor,” she says, fighting off a yawn. “You’re still here. Hawke, you’re back,” she says brightly.

 

“Hello, Moira,” Hawke says warmly. “This is Anders.”

 

“Hello…. _ Anders? _ ” The girl’s eyes widen and she gapes. “ _ The _ Anders? The one who…?”

 

Anders chuckles ruefully and nods. “The one who blew up the Kirkwall chantry, ran off with a pretty girl, and throws lightning bolts at people who deserve it? Yes, that would be me.”

 

Hawke swallows a laugh as Moira’s eyes get wider and she starts babbling. “Oh Maker!” she cries, covering her mouth. “Oh Maker you’re here! You’re actually here! Kelvin’s going to be so jealous I got to meet you first! Do you have any idea who you are?”

 

Anders laughs and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, I do, actually. Come on, let’s see what you’ve managed to do for the Commander. Tell me about the situation from a healer’s perspective.”

 

Hawke watches him guide her to the Commander’s bedside, listening to her stream of information. “After all this time, he’s still the same wonderful man who threatened me the moment I walked into his clinic,” she tells Evelyn, smiling fondly.

 

“I didn’t expect him to be so...warm,” the Inquisitor admits. 

 

“No one ever does,” Hawke says dismissively, watching the blue glow from Anders’s hands move over the Commander’s body slowly. “They expect a hero or villain, but never just...Anders. I don’t think they want to meet the healer,” she adds. “Just the vigilante.”

 

“What has it been like for you since Kirkwall?”

 

Hawke knows the Inquisitor is only trying to distract herself from worry about Cullen, so she shrugs and answers. “Not easy. But we’ve had friends to make it better.”

 

“Like Varric?”

 

“And others,” she says vaguely. “The Underground has been essential in keeping him safe. Honestly, the hardest part is loving him through it all.”

 

The Inquisitor frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

 

Hawke nods toward him, deep in concentration, his skin cracked and seeping blue magic. “That’s Justice coming forward,” she explains, watching it recede as he quickly controls the spirit. “Anders was trying to do the right thing, and has been twisted and corrupted for his trouble. It isn’t easy to reach Anders when Justice takes over, but…” She shrugs again. “I’ve learned that love isn’t easy, Evelyn. It’s not the fluttery, giddy feelings you get whenever he’s around; at least not always. It’s...sacrificial,” she decides. “You have to fight for it.”

 

Evelyn raises her eyebrows and stares at her. “You mean you don’t still get giddy?” she asks suspiciously. “I’ve noticed quite a difference between the woman who left a few days ago and the one here now.”

 

Hawke’s smile is small and private as she remembers seeing him again in Jeptha’s tavern. “Yes, I do. Every day, but that’s not what sustains us. We’re stubborn,” she laughs. “And-”

 

Anders collapses into the chair Evelyn vacated less than an hour before, and Hawke rushes to his side. “Are you all right?” she demands, lifting his face to look into his eyes. “Anders?”

 

“I’m fine,” he gasps, patting her hand. “I just ran out...too tired.”

 

“Does he need lyrium?” Evelyn asks, coming closer. “Moira, get a bottle.”

 

“No,” Anders says, holding up a hand to stop her. “Save what you have. We’ll need it tomorrow when I heal him.”

 

“Inquisitor,” Hawke says, looking up at her with pity. “Let me put him to bed, he’s no good to you like this.”

 

The Inquisitor nods, and Hawke helps Anders to his feet. “In the morning,” Anders assures her. “He’ll be fine until then.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke wakes to find Anders standing at the window, watching the morning sun strike the Frostback Mountains. His arms are crossed and his expression grim, and she knows he has something he’s trying to figure out how to say, so she just sits up and pulls her knees up.

 

“Your room here,” he says finally, still looking out the window. “It’s very like you.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, amusement coloring her voice.

 

“Simple. Comfortable. Just enough, without anything going to waste. In Kirkwall you had fancy, expensive things, but you never seemed comfortable in all that finery.” He leans against the windowsill and turns his head to look at her with a crooked grin. “You have an incredible talent for being exactly what and where you’re needed, did you know that?”

 

“And here I thought it was just really bad luck,” she jokes.

 

“I mean it,” he insists, and comes to sit beside her. “When you walked into my clinic, you have no idea how much I needed you. Someone who could accept me and what I’d done, who could reach me when no one else could…” Tears fill his eyes, and he bows his head and takes her hand. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

 

“Anders, what’s wrong?” she asks gently.

 

“Before the sun goes down, I’ll be a free man. Free of the circle and the chantry, with no templars hunting for me. I...I’ve never been free,” he chokes, squeezing his eyes closed. “I don’t know how…”

 

Hawke runs her fingers through his hair. “Oh my love,” she whispers. “I’ll be with you, and we’ll figure it out together. Don’t be afraid.”

 

“What do we do after this?” he asks, meeting her gaze.

 

“I still have work to do here,” she reminds him. “But after that...maybe we’ll go back to Ferelden. There’s work to be done. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

 

“I’m going to need you in there today,” he says, kissing the palm of her hand. “At my side, as always.”

 

Hawke leans forward and kisses him. “Always, sweetheart.”

 

###  *****

After breakfast, Evelyn and her friends follow Anders and Hawke into the infirmary. “Does anyone want to see him before we do this?” Anders asks them. The mage looks remarkably better than he had the night before, she notes, her hope rising.

 

“You said he’ll be fine, right?” Iron Bull asks, glaring at Anders.

 

“Yes, I believe he will,” Anders says with a nod. “I examined him last night and I see no reason why I will not be able to heal him.”

 

“Then we’ll talk when he wakes up,” Varric answers.

 

Anders nods again. “Very well. It will take a few hours, so I would suggest you all go find a card game or something to occupy your time.”

 

“I’ll send for everyone when it’s time,” she assures them, and watches them all disperse. “Cassandra,” Evelyn calls, catching the Seeker before she leaves. “Get with Josephine and have Rylen do another lyrium count. See what our current status is.”

 

Cassandra nods. “Of course, Inquisitor. I will be in the chapel should you need me after.”

 

Evelyn squeezes her arm gently and smiles. “Thank you. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without all of you.”

 

Cassandra smiles. “The Maker guides us through the darkness, my friend. If you’re going to go inside, you should do so now,” she suggests, gesturing toward Anders and Hawke going into the infirmary.

 

Evelyn hurries to catch up with them, stepping into the warm building with a sigh of relief. Hawke has already begun uncorking bottles of lyrium and setting them up in a row, ready for Anders should he need it.

 

“Is there any reason to think this could go badly?” Evelyn asks nervously, knotting her fingers together.  _ I should have come earlier, _ she berates herself,  _ I should have spent some time with him before now. _

 

“No, there isn’t. But I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” Anders says, shrugging out of his coat and rolling up his sleeves. “You’ll need to go.”

 

Despair crashes into her, leaving her dizzy. “I can’t-?”

 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he interrupts. “This could be a while. Hawke will assist me.”

 

“Anders, would anything keep you from my sickbed?” Hawke asks diplomatically, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“Of course not,” he says charmingly, and gives her a brilliant smile. “I’m the best healer you know.” He frowns and looks at each woman in turn. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asks.

 

Evelyn blushes and Hawke giggles as the realization dawns on him quite visibly. “Ah,” he says simply. “Inquisitor, please, have a seat in the corner.”

 

She exhales quickly and pulls the chair into the corner. The charming, easy man from breakfast has been replaced by the spirit healer- clinical and exacting, running his assistant through any complications that might occur. Watching him work- watching  _ them _ work as a unit- Evelyn feels something more substantial than hope take root. 

 

_ He isn’t anything like the criminal I’ve heard about. Hawke doesn’t talk about him much, she says it’s too complicated to sum up in a few minutes of conversation, and I can see she’s right. They’re so good for one another, though. I hope Cullen and I get a chance to be like that. I swear, if he makes it through this alive, I’ll tell him how I feel about him. _

 

It’s fascinating, watching Anders work. His magic glows blue, washing over Cullen’s battered body, settling around him like a blanket. Hawke keeps her eyes on Anders, watching for the faintest flicker before handing him a lyrium potion. Now and again he stops, closing his eyes and placing his hands over the area he’s just been working on, focused solely on correcting every injury sustained in the cave-in.

 

After two hours he stops with a heavy sigh and leans against the wall. “I need a break,” he tells Evelyn, and she readily gives up her seat for him. “Don’t worry, it’s going well,” he adds before she can ask. “Take a look for yourself.”

 

She moves closer, tracing her fingertips along his bare arm. His skin is warmer than it was before, and the bruising is completely gone from his abdomen. “Thank the Maker,” she whispers, brushing her hand over his chest. “He looks good as new.”

 

“Almost,” Anders responds, taking the cup of coffee Hawke offers him. “The bleeding your mages have been trying to stop was pretty severe, but they don’t know how to delve deep enough to fully heal that sort of thing yet. The broken ribs and his shoulder blade were well-done, all I needed to do was move a few bone fragments they’d missed back into place.”

 

“The surgeon said she wasn’t sure if his spine was broken,” Evelyn says, looking back to Anders. “What do you think?”

 

Anders shrugged, frowning. “There’s a lot of swelling there, it’s hard to tell. The bleeding was my first priority, but after a little while, I’ll be able to tell you more.”

 

Evelyn nods and steps back. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Anders.”

 

“You’re welcome, Inquisitor,” he says lightly. “But I must admit, I didn’t want to come. Commander Cullen and I have a...rich history, and I wasn’t sure a pardon would be enough.”

 

Evelyn chuckles. “I know. He told me that he’d recognized you from the Ferelden circle when you were both in Kirkwall, but you were such a trial to handle back then that he had no interest in taking you in after a few years of freedom.”

 

Anders’s jaw drops and he stares at the sleeping Commander. “You mean…he knew? All that time in Kirkwall, and he knew?”

 

Evelyn nods, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “He thought you would be more dangerous in the Gallows than you were in Darktown, but he kept an eye on you. If you were healing refugees you couldn’t be causing trouble in the circle.”

 

Hawke laughs and ruffles his hair. “See? I told you this would be worth the trip.”

 

“And the pardon, of course,” Evelyn adds, stirring sugar into her cup.

 

“There is that,” Anders agrees. 

 

“What will you do with your freedom, Anders?” she asks. “I would think you’ve had your fill of traveling.”

 

Anders looks up at Hawke with a small smile. “I don’t really know yet,” he says happily. “Maybe we’ll go to Ferelden. King Alistair helps apostates, and if I’m not a wanted man anymore, maybe I can help him.”

 

“Anders, how long do you think you’ll need?” Hawke asks, her face lined with worry. “Should I get you something to eat?”

 

Anders rests his head against her side and smiles. “Not much longer. I feel pretty good already.”

 

The infirmary door opens, and a stunned Josephine walks in, looking utterly dumbfounded. “Inquisitor…”

 

Evelyn splashes coffee over her hand in her haste to set down the cup. “Is something wrong?” she asks, rushing over. “Josie,what is it?”

 

“Nothing is wrong,” the ambassador assures her. “But I think you should go outside…”

 

_ Maker, what now? Don’t I have enough on my plate? _ She gripes silently, pulling her coat off the peg. Josephine follows on her heels, and runs into her when Evelyn stops in her tracks.

 

A small group of mounted soldiers surround a wagon loaded with trunks, and a mabari runs around it, barking at anyone who gets too close. “What is this?” Evelyn demands, approaching the first soldier she comes to. “Who are you?”

 

The soldier- dressed in black leather armor and red silk underneath- pulls off their helmet, and an abundance of damp, raven-black hair tumbles down. “Help,” says a melodious voice, and suddenly Evelyn is looking up at the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her life. “As requested.”

 

Transfixed for a moment, another voice- this one more familiar- jolts her out of her shock. 

 

“Darling, you could introduce yourself first,” the voice says, and another soldier removes their helmet. “Not  _ everyone _ expects the Queen of Ferelden to show up wearing soldier’s leathers.”

 

“Queen?” Evelyn stammers, looking from King Alistair to the beautiful woman.

 

“Queen Hera,” Josephine whispers from her side. “Married to King Alistair for five years now.”

 

The queen dismounts easily, tossing her helmet to the wagon driver. “Hera, please,” she says sweetly, leaning in to kiss Evelyn’s cheek. “I understand you’re Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan? A pleasure to meet you. And you’re Josephine!” she cries, grabbing Josephine’s hands. “I feel like we’re friends already, Lady Ambassador.”

 

“Ah, yes, of course, your Majesty,” Josephine says, speechless for the first time since Evelyn met her.

 

“We’ve met,” Alistair says easily, shaking Evelyn’s hand and smiling. 

 

“Yes,” Evelyn says dumbly. They watch her expectantly, and she has to shake her head to clear away the whirling thoughts in her mind. “Pardon me, Majesties, but what exactly are you doing here?”

 

Hera grins wickedly. “We were in Orzammar when your letter requesting more lyrium was received,” she explains, leading them to the back of the wagon. “They’ve gotten themselves in a snit over some imagined slight, and I heard that they were purposefully ignoring all requests for a day or two.” With a flourish, she opens a trunk, revealing gorgeous, glittering gowns. “I couldn’t stand for that.”

 

“And I’m sure we’ll pay for it, twice,” Alistair chuckles.

 

Evelyn looks at the dresses, confused. “So you brought formal gowns?”

 

Hera laughs and lifts one, revealing a dozen bottles of lyrium nestled amongst the silk and velvet. “I bought out three merchants before we left.”

 

Evelyn staggers, grabbing the wagon for support. “Oh Maker!” she gasps. “Oh, you’ve saved us!”

 

Alistair and Hera exchange satisfied smiles before he speaks. “When we heard of your problem, we couldn’t stand by. I may not be happy about your helping the former Grand Enchanter,” he adds sternly, “but I couldn’t allow templars to suffer needlessly.”

 

Evelyn grabs them both by the neck and hugs them close, nearer to tears than she’d like anyone to see. “Thank you,” she whispers, releasing them. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

 

Hera laughs, and Evelyn can see why everyone who’s ever met her speaks highly of her: she brings joy wherever she goes, and it’s infectious. She’s also stunning with her long black hair and blue-violet eyes. “Why don’t we go inside, and-”

 

“Hera!”

 

All eyes turn to the mysterious Spymaster making a beeline for the queen and throwing her arms around her, laughing. “You’re here!” she squeals, and the two polished women dance around holding one another tightly.

 

Hera laughs and squeals with her while Evelyn and Josephine exchange confused glances. “They’re close,” Alistair explains in a hushed chuckle. “Don’t expect either of them to separate anytime soon. Oh look, there they go,” he laughs as the pair wrap arms around one another and walk into Skyhold, heads close together as they begin gossiping. 

 

Evelyn laughs to see her serious Spymaster acting like a young girl again. “Majesty, is there anything we can do for you?” she asks, turning back to him. “This is such a surprise, I don’t even know what to say!”

 

Alistair smiles, the small lines wrinkling around his eyes. “You could invite us to stay a while. The twins are staying with my wife’s brother, so we’re in no hurry to return to Denerim. We might even be able to help one another,” he adds cheerfully.

 

“Yes, of course, please stay!” she says quickly. “Oh Maker, I can’t think,” she laughs. “We’ve had such a terrible week. Josephine, would you take care of things, see them settled in?”

 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine says, snapping back into her typical resourcefulness. “Come with me, your Majesty.”

 

Alistair gives her a charming smile and offers his arm. “It is the curse of my nature that I am honor-bound to obey instructions from beautiful women,” he flatters.

 

“And your every joy, as well, I suspect,” Josephine teases as they walk away.

 

Evelyn puts a hand to her forehead, utterly shocked by the generosity of the royal couple. When a heavy hand lands on her shoulder, she reaches up and grabs it by habit, comforted by the familiar touch she doesn’t have to see to know.

 

“I met her once, when Kinloch Hold was overrun with demons. She was...frustratingly optimistic.”

 

When she realizes it’s Cullen speaking behind her, Evelyn falls to her knees and bursts into tears. All the strain of the last few days breaks her, and she just sits in the muddy slush and sobs into her hands.

 

Cullen squats beside her and wraps his arms around her. “There now,” he soothes. “It’s all right, Evelyn.  _ I’m  _ all right, you’ve seen to that.”

 

“C-Cullen you’re a-l-live,” she stammers, looking up at him. He’s pale and weak, but he’s alive and whole, and smiling at her right now. Relief hits her again and she bows her head and cries harder.

 

He smiles down at her and pulls her to her feet. “Yes, I am,” he agrees, his face taking on a stern expression. “And considering the first person I saw when I woke up, we have a lot to talk about.”

 

Evelyn bites her bottom lip and look rather concerned. “You’re, um...you’re not going to like this.”


	8. Chapter 8

The weight of Commander Cullen’s glare is enough to make the Inquisitor of Skyhold want to run and hide. But since she  _ is _ the Inquisitor, Evelyn pulls her shoulders back and glares right back at him. It’s easy to do, since he’s actually alive and awake to glare at her, even if he is tucked into the bed wearing a silk nightshirt with lace. The difficult part is not giggling at a shirt that clearly belongs to Dorian covering the no-frills warrior.

 

“I can’t believe you did this,” he growled, knotting the sheets in his fists. “You pardoned a known criminal- he’s a murderer, Inquisitor!”

 

“And a healer,” she added calmly. “One of the best alive. We  _ needed _ him, Cullen.”

 

“You should have-”

 

“What? Let you  _ die _ ?” she snaps, pacing at the foot of the bed. “Because your were going to die. Everything was  _ not  _ going to be fine. Fiona  _ wasn’t _ going to be here in time. The lyrium  _ was _ going to run out, and you  _ were _ going to bleed to death while our templars went mad.” Tears stream down her cheeks, and she kicks a table leg. “What else could I do?”

 

Cullen looks away, almost as if he’s ashamed of himself. “The cost was too high,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Evelyn sits beside him and puts a hand to his cheek. “The cost was a life for a life,” she says softly. “And to be totally honest, Commander, it was a good deal.”

 

Cullen shakes his head. “He’s an apostate, Evelyn. Hawke was the only thing keeping him from the Gallows in Kirkwall- and he blew up the chantry. Started the whole rebellion. What will be do with his freedom?”

 

“Raise little Hawke babies?” she suggests. “Run a free clinic in an alienage?”

 

“Blow up Skyhold with three possible future Divines, the King and Queen of Ferelden, and the Inquisitor inside?”

 

“I don't know, I sort of like that alienage idea,” Anders says from the doorway with a grin. “I have a knack for healing. Making explosives is difficult. And has an unpleasant smell,” he adds. “Just ask Hawke.”

 

Cullen clamps his mouth shut, his lips forming a thin, hard line. Evelyn sighs and looks over to the mage with an apologetic look. “Anything wrong, Anders?”

 

“Oh no,” he assures her. “I was just coming to check on my patient.”

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cullen says sullenly.

 

“Good,” Anders says with a nod. “Cullen, you think I’m a bad person, but I’m really not,” he adds, turning to the door. “I was just a desperate one, and I hope one day we’ll see freedom and safety for everyone. Inquisitor, I’ll see you soon?”

 

“Yes, Anders,” she says as he walks away.

 

When he’s gone, she hears Cullen release a deep sigh. “Well, it’s done,” he says. “Whether I agree or not.”

 

“Cullen, can I tell you something?” Evelyn asks, looking down at her lap.

 

“If course, you can tell me anything.”

 

“When you were lying there, so close to dying…” She takes a shuddering breath, her hands telling her anxiety by knotting together. “It made me realize some things.”

 

“Such as? Evelyn, is something wrong?” he asks, and she can hear panic rising in his voice.

 

“Such as…” She takes another deep breath, berating herself.  _ You’ve said it already, he was just...asleep. You can say it now, you coward. _ “Cullen, I care so deeply for you,” she manages to squeak out. “When I saw you get carried out of the tower, I realized that a world without you is…”

 

He smiles and lifts her chin to look at him. “I wish I had gone to dinner with you instead of working,” he tells her, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “I’m almost certain our morning would have gone differently.”

 

###  *****

 

Hawke watches as the Inquisitor and the King of Ferelden sign multiple copies of Anders’s pardon. The man of the hour is currently gripping her hand tightly, wavering on his feet in disbelief. “I can’t believe this,” he murmurs. 

 

“There we are,” King Alistair says, handing the quill to Josephine. “Signed, witnessed, and sealed.”

 

“Now we can officially invite you to court,” Queen Hera says with a mischievous grin. “I’ve a mind to see what we can do if we join forces, Anders.”

 

“She means the trouble you’ll both get me into,” King Alistair amends cheerfully.

 

Hawke smiles brightly, so happy her heart could burst as Anders takes the pardon from the Inquisitor. “You’re a free man, Anders,” Evelyn says.

 

“Free,” he murmurs, staring at it in awe.

 

“What will you do first?” Hawke asks, rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades. 

 

“Accept the queen’s invitation for a visit to Ferelden,” he says, swallowing hard and looking up at her. “And second, I’m going to ask you all to excuse my wife and I for a long, leisurely walk.”

 

Arm in arm, they walk along the battlements, watching the wind blow snow over the peaks. Anders is quiet for a long time, and Hawke leaves him be, content to walk with him. On their second round of the keep’s walls, he stops, looking out over the vista before closing his eyes.

 

_ He looks like he’s straight out of one Varric’s romances, _ Hawke thinks, brushing the hair off his forehead.  _ One of the heroes, finally getting a happy ending. _

 

“What happens now?” he asks softly.

 

She leans against the merlon and crosses her arms. “Stroud and I have to go to Adamant,” she reminds him. “Then I get a special pardon for any crimes I may have committed since the Blight.”

 

“Are you worried about it?” he asks. “Adamant and the Grey Wardens?”

 

“I’m worried about  _ you, _ ” she admits. “Corypheus could have killed you before, and he’s even stronger now. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“I can stay here,” he suggests, opening his eyes and looking over at her. “Teach those two apprentices how to properly heal.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” she says encouragingly. “We could do a lot of good with the Inquisition. The Inquisitor is sympathetic to our cause, and strives to make it better.”

 

He nods, and takes a deep breath. She imagines the air tastes fresher than it has since he was a child in the Anderfels. “I am the luckiest man in Thedas,” he sighs, looking at her.

 

“Yes, you are,” she teases, hugging him. “You have a wife who loves you very deeply, and you’re free.”

  
“I’m free,” he whispers. He laughs and picks her up, twirling her around wildly. “I’m free!” he shouts gleefully, the sound ringing off the mountains. He stops suddenly, and Hawke laughs with him. “ _ We’re _ free.”


End file.
